


Aeipathy

by AmyLerajie



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyLerajie/pseuds/AmyLerajie
Summary: Prompto can't even say that he was drunk, just lazily sipping a drink in one of the Altissian ever-opened bars, too bored and tired and unhappy to even drink himself out of his mind.It just happened, in a way, yet it didn't.





	

Prompto would rather think that it just sort of happened, two days before the supposed date of the summoning of the Hydraean, just a few more days before his best friend's wedding, it happened.  
He can't even say that he was drunk, just lazily sipping a drink in one of the Altissian ever-opened bars, too bored and tired and unhappy to even drink himself out of his mind.  
He remembers the bar, although he is aware that the magnificent and diverse scenery of the water city is a bit less creative when it comes to interior design. He can remember the red draping and the gold accents in the general burgundy furniture, but that's it.  
It has to be this, the tiredness, the boredom, the overall unhappiness that the end of the road could have meant that finally uncovered the lid of the void restraining the depth of his solitude and allowed the disaster.  
That and the fact that the slightest hum of his accomplice's voice was enough to make his throat feel like sandpaper, his heart jumping like a caged little bird.  
That's how Prompto had met Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim, in Altissia, when his heart was yearning for anything the night could give.  
He remembers thinking of the Chancellor's hair clashing with the bar design and laughing. He can recall the small pout he elicited from him and how it tugged his heart.  
It's a lie to say that the rest is a blur, as he can pin-point the exact moment he started realizing what his feelings for that man of no consequence meant and he can recall the taste of his lips, a laugh still lingering on them.  
Ardyn's hand on his side, as they moved as one in the market's crowd, is so vivid that Prompto has to restrain from looking there. He can see they are both in the space between them, wrists mauled by ugly scars. They look smaller than he thought they would have been and he can remember them being gentler than he had thought, softer, too, on the upside.  
There is an ugly scar where his heart should be, deep enough to let the contours of the ribs showing through, several others on his side and Prompto is fast to stop his eyes from wandering further.  
He furrows his brows, the ugliest scars on his back visible by some light white strands on his shoulders. He can't forget those. He didn't had to ask what caused them, heart sinking with the realization that the man in front of him had a darker past that his courteous manners made him appear.  
He thought that he would have woken up in an empty room, coldness as his only company, yet the tragedy is that he had always known, despite every little voice of his mind reminding him that he's useless, that Ardyn would have stayed. And here they are, on the morning after and he is still there.  
He fantasized, in the grey zone before falling asleep, of cold uttered goodbyes and farewells unsaid, but the sun is high enough that Prompto can recognize the royal suite of the Leville and their clothes still scattered on the floor he can catch a glimpse of, behind his gorgeous bedhair.  
His hair is the most amazing color, in the morning light. It's purplish brown, with oranges hues and his natural soft waves are amplified by the sleep and the sex.  
Prompto can recall pulling onto it for a while and he whimpers as fire goes to his face.  
There are several strands on Ardyn's face and the boy hesitates. He is scared of waking him up. Everything will be over, then.  
He sinks in the fluffy pillow, searching for some kind of relief from the hotness of his cheeks, mumbling something even he can't understand.  
He remembers the handsome face of the stranger in Galdin Quay. He remembers being struck by how weirdly adult his traits were, even though he couldn't be older than 35. Mature. Yet his eyes were full of a playful light, something that Prompto was lured to.  
And lured in he had been the next time, spending time sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, in the cold canyon night, hearing stories about the stars and the Archaeans and the time they hadn't been just legends.  
It had been his voice, more than his face. His seductive tone, yet still playful, narrating about gods and heroes like he had been there.  
Prompto can't forget how his heart had jumped, when Ardyn's hand had cupped his face and he had just leaned in it, starving for physical affection. His skin was cold, yet he had lingered there for how long Ardyn had let him.  
Prompto wonders if he's still cold.  
He reaches for one of the wild strands of hair and pushes it out of his face, lightly, moving as not to wake up a predator. Eventually, he gives up, wandering with his fingers on cold skin and through wild hair.  
He is too focused on the way they tend to bounce back to notice Ardyn waking up and it's only when he hears him whisper something that resembles his own name that he realizes.   
Ardyn opened eyes are bleary with sleep, a relaxed expression that gives way to confusion and the ghost of a smile. Prompto is tempted to smile, too, but there's no time for that.  
There's just time for Prompto to release a timid and surprised breath, before the man's confused affection is turned to something else, something darker and close to shame and the blonde's heart sinks in ice, deep in his belly.  
He had known from the start.  
He had hoped, taking the Chancellor's hand and accepting his help getting in a wobbly gondola, to never see regret in his amber eyes, better yet, he hadn't wanted to see realization, the cold end to a night of wonder.  
And here it is, the end.  
Prompto braces himself, expecting to close his eyes for a moment and opening them with the sound of a closed door. He can't say he's satisfied, but he can see the rose the Chancellor bought him from a stall, gently put on top of the table before they ever even started undressing and his heart clenches, his eyes shut as he grinds his teeth, because everything that happened before mattered and Ardyn can't possibly regret that, too.  
He focuses on the feeling of his callous hands in his, when he playfully pushed on the bed and Ardyn conceded and suddenly he finds himself gasping for oxygen, his lungs awfully and painfully constricted, eyes wide open.  
“Breathe.”  
He can see Ardyn's lips move, but he can't hear the sound of his voice. It hurts a lot worse, because he's bombarded with informations, details he wanted to purge from his mind. He can hear his soft gasps when Prompto touches his sides, the laugh he gave up to when he insisted on touching there.   
The Chancellor is ticklish and human and alive and he regrets every single moment Prompto's heart cherished and his brain tries to forget.  
But how can he forget the approving hum as the boy's lips traveled shyly on his skin, caressing his scars, after the flood of sadness that brought him to tears?  
How can he just cancel the subtle growl on his neck, the mimed word he already tried to ignore when it had been breathed on his skin as he claimed him as his.  
Mine.  
Yet Prompto is just a regret, a mistake.  
Mine.  
Yet Prompto is expendable.  
“Prompto. It's okay, breathe.”  
This time -is it the second one or Ardyn spent longer trying to reach him, thinking he was lost? How can Prompto relish the thought? It's wrong.- he can hear him.  
He is calm and soothing and Prompto breathes, even with iron constricting his lungs, even through the pain, he breathes and Ardyn's face is no longer pained, just worried, eyebrows arched and   
He reaches out for his face and cackles, feeling immediately stupid for that sound. But his throat hurts and he's still hurting everywhere.  
But Ardyn's face is relieved and rough with a stub he can't figure him without.   
“You are handsome.” he manages to say, with a soft smile and a raspy voice.  
It hurts all over and Ardyn is cold to the touch, yet he smiles, as his heart wins over his brain and subjugates its will. Prompto will remember every detail. He wills himself to memorize the soft skin of Ardyn's neck and the shivers his caress are accountable for.  
“I am cold.” he can hear, an amber stare in which he can't say if the Chancellor feels cold or is just stating the obvious.  
He wants to say that he can warm him and, under the heavy covers, Prompto is almost sweating, but he can remember Ardyn putting his hand on his heart and hearing nothing other than a wet and disturbing sound, like something was fighting inside, so he doesn't open his mouth, pulling the stronger body to himself and holding it as silence fills the room.


End file.
